I Miss You
by Mr Sinister
Summary: An X-Woman, whose life ended a century previously, visits the grave of a loved one, and makes a far-reaching choice about her own existence (very definitely A/U stuff)


**__**

**_I Miss You_**

   "I'm sorry I haven't visited for so long."

   I kneel and place the solitary white rose in front of the gravestone, nestling it amongst the accumulated moss and cracks of a hundred years. I haven't been here for a decade or more, and the place is getting less and less familiar with each visit – which is odd, because I had thought the reverse would be true. 

   I suppose that's because I'm… well, losing touch with the human world, to put it bluntly. Ever since Dracula _turned me, and gave me this blessing – this curse – of an eternal life in the shadows, I've been slipping away from what makes… __made me human. I don't know how much longer it'll be before I don't come back here any more, but I'm going to make sure that I make the most of the time I have here, just in case._

   I kneel at the side of the grave and pat the headstone gently with one pale hand, the sharply-contrasting nails on it painted as blood-red as my fangs after a successful hunt. "It's good to see you, sweetheart – I've missed you so much." I smile, exposing my lengthened, needle-sharp canines for a moment, before I close my mouth, almost ashamed to show him what I've become in the intervening years between his death and this moment. 

   I remember just after it first happened, I begged him to let me turn him as well. It might have helped me avoid this little ritual – we could have been together forever, just like in one of those old fairy tales. But I don't think he ever looked at me the same way again; he couldn't bear to know that we could never walk in the mansion's grounds unless the sun had set, or that the crucifix I used to wear around my neck burned my skin and made me hiss with fear every time I saw it, or that the holy water Kurt "accidentally" spilled on my arm left burns so ugly that I still carry the scars to this day. 

   "You and me, babe… we could have been contenders," I say softly, rubbing the gravestone gently with my dead fingers. "Why didn't you listen to me?" I can feel a bloody teardrop beginning to bead at the corner of my eye – which surprises me, since I haven't cried in years (I mean, really, what reasons do vampires have to cry?). The last time was when I had to leave the mansion for good; leave the mansion and leave him behind. When he brought me my ration of slaughterhouse-bought blood, I'd begged him to let me turn him as well, but he said no. I knew he wanted me to do it, on some level – I could smell it in his sweat, feel it in the hairs on the back of his neck, and see it in his eyes. I could feel it when I traced my tongue along the skin of his throat, my teeth scratching his flesh and drawing thin lines of his blood. It tasted so sweet, I had to restrain myself from taking any more; at that point I was still trying to be human, after all. I could have taken it anyway, I guess, but I didn't. I regret that now – if it's possible for something like me to still harbour regrets, at least. 

   I ran then, ashamed of what I'd become. I ran, and I didn't look back. And even after more than a century of un-life, it still stings; I feel as if I'm saying the exact same things I said the last time I was here, and that nothing apart from the moss on the headstone has changed. It's still so painful – even right in the centre of my unbeating heart there is a place where his loss will never completely heal.

   They say time heals all wounds. 

   Right. 

   Time is the one thing I have plenty of, and I still feel as empty as I did the day I left you. 

   I wonder if that's a punishment from God for becoming what I am? I did choose this, after all – Dracula offered it to me and I couldn't refuse. I don't know how he did it, but he mesmerised me, and I couldn't resist him. He took me in his arms and bit my neck so gently I almost didn't feel it. All the others saw when they found me were two small bite marks on my neck, and living in a modern world as they did, they didn't think it could have been a vampire. 

   But then he returned over the next two nights and he… he _changed me. The agony of the transformation was incredible, but then everything stopped hurting. That was the last time I ever felt any pain. _

   Physically, anyway... emotional pain is another story altogether. 

   "I wish I could tell you something new about me," I whisper through cold lips, "but I can't – I've been doing the same thing I've been doing since I ran away. I'm a killer, and I can't stop. I don't _want to stop. And I'm so ashamed." Another bloody tear drips off my nose and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. "I don't know why. I've been doing it for so long I've lost count of how many people I've killed – how many new vampires I've created. Why should I be ashamed of what I am? I can't change that now, any more than I can bring you back." I take a deep breath (not that I need to) and look down at the ground for a moment or two, as if I'm suddenly afraid of what I've come to say. "Actually, I had another reason for coming here today. I just wanted to tell you that I'm not going to come back any more. I think I'm doing this on purpose, to try and convince myself I'm still human, somehow, when I'm not. Not any more." I pause, gripping the gravestone with one hand in order to steady myself. "I love you, Scott. I'll always love you… but I can't come back anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

   And as I melt away back into the night that has become my home for the past century, I think I can feel Jean Grey finally dying inside me, the Phoenix's firebird snuffed out for good.

   All I have left is the night.


End file.
